Boy in the Forest
by muggledad
Summary: Both incomplete, both needing the other; they find each other when needed most. Fate? Destiny? Luck? What brings them together is beyond definition aside from 'Life'. The beginning of a soul bond story.


The young witch found the young boy curled under the bush in the forest as he wept bitterly.

Long before, his uncle had savaged again him for being a Freak. The boy didn't truly understand what he'd done; much less what was so evil about what he'd done. One moment he'd been washing the dishes after his family ate their dinner, the next moment, the dishes were sparkling clean as they floated into their cupboards.

_It was just like magic._

The beating had been horrible. This time, though, he'd had enough. There was no longer any choice in the matter for him. Something deep inside him refused to tolerate his existence any longer. In the middle of the night, the boy crept out of his cupboard with the three things in his life that he cared about: the top half of a broken toy knight, an old fashioned silver spoon and a brand new, unsharpened pencil. His treasures wrapped in a soiled dishtowel, he'd fled the house of his torment. There was little doubt that he'd only be missed when it came time for him to cook a meal.

That had been well over a month ago. Scavenging in dust bins, picking the newly ripe berries he could find as he made his way north, the boy ate more than he'd ever eaten. Still, he was hungry. Looking up to the stars from his woodland home, he'd thanked whatever gods there may be for his deliverance; no more beatings, no more beltings, no more harsh words. Despite his liberation, though, he was lonely. He'd always been lonely, but being alone seemed to accentuate the feeling.

_Maybe I am a Freak. Maybe no one can love me._

So he headed further north. There was no rhyme or reason behind his direction. It was just where he needed to go. Finally, he reached where he needed to be so the boy stopped, setting up a crude camp.

He'd no idea where he was. The forest was old – so old that there was little underbrush beneath the expansive oaken canopy. The animals in the forest scattered at his approach, but he'd not the skill or temperament to hunt them for his dinner so it didn't bother him too much. Far from civilization, he scoured for berries, nuts and began to sample the local vegetation for edibility. Some of his discoveries were surprisingly tasty, others, not so much.

It was as he was wading in the river that his fragile world broke again. He'd seen crawfish skittering about the shallows as he bathed and had heard about Americans eating them. Trying his luck, he waded into the water wearing a small bag on his belt both of which he'd retrieved from a rubbish bin. The boy caught six of the small crustaceans in quick succession. Pleased with his efforts, he returned to his small camp to boil them in his saucepan – another castoff. It became a regular activity for him, to fish the River Trent shallows for his crawfish. As he caught more, the population thinned forcing him further afield to find his dinner.

The day it all crumbled had begun like any other day. Early on he scavenged for berries and vegetables. When the sun rose high enough, the boy ventured to the river. Deciding to go downstream for his fishing efforts, he soon after heard voices. They weren't harsh voices raised in anger, rather the gentle murmur and burble of conversation. Peering through the foliage he saw a family out for a holiday. There was a young boy about his age and a younger girl. They were kicking a football about as their mother spread a picnic lunch. Their father was playing about as the children laughed and giggled.

The boy's world began to crumble as the father playfully tackled his children while they shrieked in glee. The mother laughed delightedly as she watched her family.

_Why couldn't my parents have been like this? Is it because I'm a Freak?_

Numbly, the boy returned to his camp. Mindlessly removing his pot of water from the little fire, he crawled under the bush as the long held tears found their release.

The loneliness which had never left overwhelmed him as a wave crashing into the shore. Throbbing as a wound, the boy curled into a foetal ball hoping it would all end; the pain, the misery and the all-encompassing loneliness. His body heaved with raw sobs.

This is where the young witch found him.

.oOo.

Despite his wonder, he held her close as she shuddered and wept.

She had always been hard and cold. As a small child, her mother had found her to be seemingly emotionless, missing a fundamental part of her which made her whole on more than one occasion. When asked what she felt, the raven haired girl would always reply that she didn't know. She never understood her mother's sad expression. As she got older, the young witch wondered if her mother and father had known what she had been missing all those years, but had refused to tell her.

The coldness and emotional detachment had cost the girl her small circle of friends. No one wanted to play with the weird girl who acted like a golem all the time. Despite her family's standing and extensive financial holdings, the girl found the invitations from her peers coming less often to the point where they were non-existent.

It didn't bother her for she couldn't find that which she was looking. Even though, she never could quite put her finger on that which was missing…

Then the day came when she knew _where_ it was that she was missing even if she didn't know _what_ was missing. Mother and father were off at some party or reception, leaving her at home with her sleeping grandmother and Tippy, the family elf.

Tippy was easy to escape. The witch just asked the devoted elf to clean the library. With the age and size of their family library, the elf would be working for a week when all the witch needed was an hour to get far enough away to make her escape.

_Escape? No. Start on the journey to find…_

It was an incredible relief for her finally to have a direction. She was a very intelligent witch. Despite her persistent emotional disassociation, she'd been an able and willing student of the duties to her family and her station. Her grandmother, mother and father had been firm and insistent that she attend to their instruction. Despite her difficulties, she managed to devour voraciously whatever they placed in front of her. In the end, though, she'd only truly cared about finding…what she couldn't find.

Fleeing toward her solution, she felt the physical _need_ to find this ephemeral, visceral thing that would fix her. Scowling, she moved a branch out of her way. Fix was the wrong word, but it suited the situation well enough. She never felt _broken_ in any way, just...not complete.

It was obvious that her parents loved her – they told her every so often of their affections. At the same time, she never truly connected with them. There was a barrier, a distance between her and her parents that seemed to be the cause or maybe the effect of this coldness. Grandmother was stern and unyielding so the witch always felt empty when with her ancestor. That well was dry she'd realized even as a young child.

With her arms outspread for balance, she crossed the gully on the fallen tree. Excitement bubbled up within her as the certainty of her solution was being presented to her. When she hopped off the end of the tree on the other side of the wide gully, her face split into a wide toothy grin. Had her parents seen the expression, they'd have been surprised. Their daughter was very reserved and withdrawn in her distractedness; a wide smile and open expression was quite atypical.

She stopped stock still as the happy expression melted to one of complete dismay. _What if I'm wrong? What if the Answer isn't over there?_ The fear gave birth to panic which in turn spurred her from her deliberate walk to a near sprint.

Branches whipped her face, she stumbled over tree roots. Dodging a fleeing hare, the witch sprawled through the mould. Her knees skinned and shins barked on a stone, she scrambled to her feet, running where her heart told her that the Answer could be found. Crashing through the forest that bordered her family's estate, she ventured further into the trackless shadow than she'd ever done before.

Lost for over an hour but with her destination firmly in mind, she never slowed. Her dress torn, face whipped and knees bleeding, still she pounded toward her destination. The anticipation and fear were building in parallel with equal intensity, the pressure forcing a panting howl from her mouth as the emotions were too strong to be suppressed. The closer she came to her destination, the clearer the _what_ became of her Answer. It was a person. A boy.

The sound of the river murmuring in its bed registered somewhere deep in her mind, but she ignored it. Bending to the left, she heard a muffled noise. _Crying? No, sobbing_.

The pressure in her heart bled off without notice for her attention shifted from herself to this person who was crying, for in her heart of hearts, she knew that this person was her Answer. Slowing, for she knew the person was near, the witch walked without trepidation toward the noise. After all the years of searching without finding, of looking and never seeing it seemed anticlimactic to part the leaves of the bush to see a boy about her age curled into a ball, weeping bitterly.

Her eyes saw everything, but focused on nothing. His dark hair was wild and long. Tear tracks dug furrows down his pale, unblemished face. His eyes were closed and puffy with sobs, but his white teeth were bared in his turmoil. The rags that were his clothes were stained and torn, but in the moment, she couldn't help but notice that they were clean.

Without thought, overrun by instinct and her own magic, the witch knelt next to the sobbing boy. She felt his agony, his desperate aloneness which seemed to be the companion to her frustrated search.

_He's like me._

The realization soothed her, but still she felt the urge, the pull to him. Her hand began to reach out, but stilled of its own accord.

_Together. It must be together._

Pulled up like a reined in horse, his sobs stopped. His green eyes rimmed with red met her impossibly blue eyes. The connection was instant and powerful. Without thought, without compunction, she reached out for him as he reached up for her. When their hands met in the middle, magic exploded.

Thought fled.

Magic lifted them both off the ground so that they hovered opposite each other.

Staring into his eyes she saw him. All of him.

She knew that he saw all of her in his turn.

It was euphoria. It was pain. There was agony. There was delight.

Power surged within them both destroying shackles while binding them together. She was he as he was she.

Vaguely, she felt the wind whipping about but ignored it. A nimbus of magical light surrounded them, as a cocoon. They held each other's hands tightly as magic rotated them in orbit about each other. A distant part of her mind recognized this motion as Right and Good.

Thoughts and images ran through her head at high speed. Horrible things that made her want to run and hide. With dawning horror, she realized that these were his memories. This was his life. Rage at his mistreatment, sadness for his suffering and dedication to let it never happen again surged within her. Despite her age, she vowed to protect him with her life, should it be required.

Now tears tracked down her face. She didn't even realize that magic had gently lowered them to the forest floor, nor that the wind had stopped and the powerful light faded. With an effort, she looked up to see his face as he regarded her with wonder. Sadness washed over her again as she reached out to cup his face.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, her scraped hand caressing his cheek.

"It's alright, Daphne. We found each other."

Her pain at his own pain, the relief at finally finding what she'd been looking for her whole life, the grief over the frustrations, the doubt and the despair overtook her. With her eyes closed as she wept, her spirit was soothed when his arms tentatively wrapped about her, holding her close to his chest.

In his wonder, he held her as her body was wracked with sobs.

.oOo.

Time passed. Harry hadn't realized how much until he shivered. Even with Daphne in his arms, he was cold. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was full dark. Even more surprising was that they were lying on his makeshift pallet arms and legs entwined.

Harry knew that he should be embarrassed. He knew that he should be uncomfortable. First, Daphne was a girl. Second, she was a girl he'd met not that long before and third, she was a girl.

Pulling her tighter to him, he couldn't seem to give a damn. She was Daphne. She was beyond qualification or quantification. She was Daphne; no more nor less. The loneliness that had been omnipresent, all-encompassing and so incomparably painful was gone. He was whole now. So long as he had her, he'd never be lonely again. Glancing at her dark tresses spread over his painfully thing chest, he knew that it was the same for her as well. She, too, was whole now.

The sharing of memories was decidedly odd, though. He'd experienced her life in a moment or two. Based on her reaction, she'd experienced his as well. Again, he should be embarrassed or even ashamed but…well. It was Daphne.

She stirred against him. He smiled at the noise of disgust she made after she smacked her lips. "Where's your water bottle?" she whispered.

Silently, he handed it to her.

Sitting up before artlessly running her fingers through her long hair, Daphne drank deeply of his bottle. _Crying makes you thirsty_.

Regaining her wits, she smiled at Harry. "How're you?"

His smile would've lit a thousand candles. "Better than I've ever been." It was a truthful statement which caused her to beam at him in return.

"Good."

He stood, handing her to her feet as well. Both brushed themselves off from leaves and dirt. He gathered up that which he wanted to keep. His treasures went into his fishing bag. The pot he left for someone to use should it be found someday. The pallet of rags would be used by the forest denizens to line their own dens come autumn. Glancing about, he told her, "Ready."

She took his hand, causing a thrill to shoot up his arm. "What is this magic that's between us?" he asked her. "Now that I know that I'm a wizard, I understand what happened…before. But what's this?" He raised their joined hands as evidence to their joining.

Her expression serene, Daphne replied, "I don't know. It doesn't really matter, though. Does it?"

He was quiet for a long moment, considering her reply. The effect of what had happened was what he'd always wanted. Did it matter the mechanism that created the effect? Looking into her eyes, he found peace. Being with her, he found contentment. Talking with her was joyful. With a minute shake of his head, he answered, "No. I guess it doesn't."

AN

1. I own nothing. This is a little one off in the vein of the 'soul bond' stories that are all over FF dot net. I like the idea of Harry being Daphne's puzzle piece that banishes the oft found 'Ice Queen' persona. I wrote a bit more, but not sure if I'll go anywhere with this. I've had the synopsis for this in my notes file for years, but knocked it out last week. Have fun,maybe I'll continue, but probably not. Mark it complete.

2. Recommendation for this chapter is a Lord of the Rings/X-Men Crossover. High Plains Drifter's LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship is amazing, magnificent and I will be gushing like a fanboy should I go on describing the story. Make the time to read his excellent story and drop a review or two. Now. Go now.


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